Turnabout
by The Croc Shop
Summary: For Kataang Week, Winter 2009 Edition. It is Katara's humble and impartial opinion that Aang should put a shirt on.


Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to _Avatar: the Last Airbender._ This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.

This story is set post-series by a few years.

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**Turnabout**

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The late days of summer swept through Ba Sing Se hot as fire and nearly as unpleasant. Three steps into the ornamental garden and already Katara felt vile, sweat prickling beneath her collar and beading along her hairline. It wasn't enough merely to coat herself in ice; she had to find a reasonable way to make it stay. _That_ would be a technique worth inventing.

Through the garden the paved path wound, blue stones alternating with green in a pattern that proceeded neatly down the long slope to the meditation pond. Katara followed it thusly, bending bits of water in the air into ice as she went. At the foot of the hill a ring of slender trees blocked the pond from view, their branches laden with summer blossoms which grew in thick cloisters of pink and red. Katara pushed her way through them.

"Aang," she started. She stopped.

Situated in the heart of the pond, balanced on the rock that stood there, Aang tipped his head back. He smiled. "Hey, Katara," he said.

"Urk," said Katara.

This most recent growth spurt had been very kind to Aang.

She knew that already, of course, but it was one thing to know something to be true and another thing entirely to see it shirtless and upside down, balanced on its hands. Strong, dexterous hands, a man's hands. Arms outstretched. Back muscles bunched together. Sweat all over everything.

It wasn't like she'd never seen any of this before, she thought. She had. She knew those hands. She knew those arms. She knew that back. So Aang was shirtless: fine. No surprises here. She could handle this. Katara wasn't a little girl anymore.

Aang pushed off the rock, springing into the air. His arms bowed, all the long, lean, thoroughly unmistakeable muscles in his back tensing hard and tight, and then he was up, caught by the sudden breeze which swirled around him. He landed lightly on his feet with a showy spread of his arms, flat and even with his shoulders. Chest squared.

"So," he said. "What d'you need?"

"Ah," said Katara. Oh, good. She still had her tongue.

One lone bead traced a line down his throat, sliding slow and smooth into the shallow hollow of his collarbone. Katara's tongue itched.

"Katara?" said Aang. He waved his fingers at her.

"Sokka!" she said. "He wants your advice. On his book. He's too lazy to get you himself, of course, you know Sokka." She laughed.

Aang tipped his head to the side. "What's he need my advice for?"

She flapped her hand. "Something about, oh, historical accuracy and conflicting agendas. He's worried about misrepresenting Zuko, I think, so really he should ask Zuko, not you, but that's my brother for you, always--"

"Katara," said Aang.

"Anyway," she said. "That's why."

The fading sunlight gleamed off his shoulders; it lit his chest and the lines of his throat, shining where the sweat shone. Aang grinned.

Katara decided what she felt was aggravation. Yes, that was it. So what if Aang looked good without anything on. Anything on his chest. That didn't mean he had to be aware of it. Cocky, that's what he was. Well, she wasn't going to stand for this.

"You're blushing," Aang said, still grinning.

"I'm not blushing," she snapped. "It's heat stroke!"

"That sounds pretty bad," he said. "Maybe we should go inside. It's a little hot out here," he added.

"Yes," Katara said. "I've noticed that it's hot. Out here."

His grin widened and shamelessly, _shamelessly_, Aang sidled forward and stretched his arms, not even bothering to fake a yawn. His shoulders bunched; his chest drew tight. Katara's everything itched, from her toes to her fingers to her scalp.

"Oh," he said, lowering his head in mock innocence. "Sorry. It's just my shoulders are kind of sore, from standing out here so long." Aang sighed and gazed dolefully at her, reaching up to rub at his shoulder so his upper arm was perfectly displayed.

Sokka could wait, Katara decided. Someone had to teach Aang a lesson. Reaching out to the pond so calm and clear, she pulled.

Aang responded a bit too quickly or perhaps too slowly: he swept his arms through the air in sharp counterpoint to her own hard yank and the contents of the meditation pond came splashing down upon them both. Katara staggered, but kept to her feet, and spat out her mouthful of water. Knocked to his knees before her, Aang did the same, clearing out his mouth in one go.

"Whoops," Katara said. She batted her lashes at him.

Aang laughed, rising to his feet. "When you say whoops," he said, "you mean, urk."

Katara plucked at her jeogori, neatly molded to her chest by the impromptu shower. Aang went red. Well, she thought. She flipped her wet hair over her shoulder and posed, hand on her hip, chest tilted just forward of her waist. If it were at all possible, Aang went redder.

"Fair's fair," Katara said.

She straightened, feeling the chima clinging to the curve of her backside. As if she couldn't possibly care less if Aang saw her do such a thing, she reached back to adjust the cling and the fall of the skirt. She put a little wriggle into it. Not much. Just enough for revenge.

Aang swallowed visibly.

"Don't forget Sokka," she said brightly. "You won't want to make him wait too long."

"He can probably wait a few more minutes," Aang said.

"Oh, probably," Katara agreed. "But do you really want to find out?"

A bead of water traced his jaw; it vanished in the shadow cast upon his throat. He took a step forward, looking up at her through his lashes: coyly or shyly, she wasn't sure.

Katara swallowed the sigh rising in her chest.

"Yes," Aang said. "I really, really do."

"Then let's find out," said Katara.

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This story was originally posted at livejournal on 08/28/2009 for Kataang Week (Winter 2009 Edition), prompt #2: "blush."


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